


Interlude

by McG



Series: After the end [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, New Year's Eve, mention of past suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-08-28 04:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16716788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McG/pseuds/McG
Summary: A series of scenes following the end of Persecution, as our characters get ready for the next stage of their lives.





	1. New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and James spend New Year's Eve together.

Mark (Lewis)  
Got plans tomorrow night? Want to hang out?  
18:01

James Hathaway  
What did you have in mind?  
18:24

Mark (Lewis)  
Dad and Laura have an invite to one of her friends' parties. Come over here, watch Jools Holland, drink beer, see in the New Year, desperately fight against the realisation that we're not as young as we used to be, try to stay up until the early hours, but inevitable crash out asleep on the sofa by half midnight?  
18:26

James Hathaway  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!  
Sounds good - but do you want to come here instead? You bring the beer; I'll cook the food.  
18:30

\---

As agreed, Mark appeared on James' doorstep at 8pm, armed with a bag from the off-license and also a tupperware of mince pies.

"Lynn made about a thousand of them before she left. We're going to be eating them for months." he explained as he handed the box over, shedding his coat and shoes while James poked at the pans on the stove and opened a bottle of beer for Mark. 

"Dinner's pretty much ready."

"Want any help?" 

"Thanks. Maybe just open the wine, if you want some with dinner?"

Mark gave him a brief salute, and went to make himself useful.

\---

After dinner, they settled in on the sofa, James swapping the CD playing for the next in a stack by the stereo. 

He slumped back on the sofa, sitting in the middle, closest to Mark. Then without much warning or fuss, he twisted to face Mark, and reach out to cup his face with one hand, leaning in and kissing him. 

Mark, surprised but pleased, kissed back enthusiastically, surging up. With James' cooperation, Mark straddled his lap, both hands holding James' head and mussing up his hair, while James' hands in return worked their way under Mark's t shirt and onto his bare skin. 

They spent a few minutes like that, on the sofa. Kissing; hands roaming. Mark felt the moment that James tensed up underneath him and he pulled back, trying to meet James' eye. 

James, for his part, remained where he was. Still sitting on the sofa, his hands still resting on Mark's hips. But his chin was tipped down, his gaze firmly avoiding Mark. 

"You ok?" Mark asked. "James?" 

James didn't respond verbally, but he did push at Mark until he took the hint and climbed off James' lap. James then tucked his feet up onto the sofa and pressed his face against his knees, wrapping his arms around his shins. 

"James? You're scaring me. Can you talk to me, please? Look, even if you want me to leave, can you at least tell me that you're ok?"

" _Had we but world enough and time,_ " James murmured. He scrubbed at his face with both hands. 

Mark frowned at him. 

" _This coyness lady were no crime_?" he asked, with a note of confusion. 

"What?"

"To His Coy Mistress? That's what you just quoted?"

James stared at him, looking startled. Though it seemed to have distracted him from his initial panic. He relaxed a little, putting his feet back down on the floor, though he still had his hands clasped between his knees and he sat hunched over. 

"Well, yes. But people don't normally reel out the next line of my quotations at me,"

"Perhaps they should? I have a good memory; we studied it at GCSE, I don't actually know what you're trying to tell me with it though…" Mark asked. He was learning that it was important to tread carefully with James. 

After James had kissed him on Christmas Day, he'd not made any further romantic overtures. Though he had finally started replying to Mark's messages again: providing witty commentary to Mark's narration of the trials of visiting family. 

"I didn't invite you over to do this." James explained. 

"Which part? The kissing or the freaking out?" 

"Both of those." James said, with a self deprecating grin. 

"What _did_ you plan then?"

"That we would have dinner. That we'd spend some time together. We'd chat and watch the fireworks on tv, and then go to bed. Separately." 

"But instead you decided to kiss me?" 

James paused for a moment, looking back down at his clasped hand again. 

"Yes."

"Why?" 

"You were there, you were smiling. We were having a good time. I thought perhaps that's what you expected of me." 

"I didn't come here with any expectations."

"You didn't want me to kiss you?"

"Well… I didn't expect it, at least. It was a pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless." 

Mark took a sip of his wine, and put the glass back down before continuing. 

"We've only known each other for a few weeks. And they've been a pretty intense few weeks. You've been through a new relationship that didn't take off in the direction you'd hoped or expected. You've faced a big case at work that brought up a lot of issues for you. You've had a hell of a stressful week." 

Mark reached out and squeezed James' shoulder in an attempt to provide reassurance before continuing. 

"There are lots of reasons why this would be a bad idea, James. The fact that I'm attracted to you doesn't negate all of these facts. So no, I didn't expect you to make a move. But, I also don't mind that you did."

James scrubbed his face with his palms, and then twisted his head to look at Mark. 

"Why are you so nice to me?"

Mark shrugged. 

"I like you, you're a nice person; I'm a nice person; why wouldn't I be?" 

James huffed a half laugh. Not quite amusement. Disagreement maybe. 

"You have all these words for how you feel about things. I don't have that."

Mark gave him a considering look. 

"I take after my mum that way. Lynn's much more like Dad: she just gets on with things without talking about them. Talking about how I feel is part of how I process." He paused, unsure how much to reveal about his inner life. 

James was sharing so much of himself, but he was obviously still in turmoil over the recent stress in his life. Nonetheless, it was probably sensible for Mark to show reciprocity with a show of trust. 

"Plus I've had a lot of therapy over the years." he continued. "I struggled a lot after we lost Mum. So I went through a tough few years. Therapy taught me to be objective; to put things into words and separate out thoughts and feelings." 

"Don't tell your dad; he hates therapy. Thinks it's a load of crock." 

"It works better if you're receptive to it, I'll give him that. You have to want to sort through your problems. Plus it can take a bit of trial and error to find the right therapist for you. But I've found it incredibly useful." 

James glanced over at him and nodded to show he'd heard. He shuffled forward on the sofa and picked up his glass from the coffee table again and took a sip. 

"What was your mum like?" James asked after a minute. 

"Kind. Patient. I never really knew her as an adult; I was only 18 when she died. She was always smiling, I remember. Even when Lynn or I were being little shits, and Dad wasn't pulling his weight. She was almost always the peacemaker. I only saw her genuinely angry a handful of times. Usually at Dad; usually because of Morse." 

James was quiet for a moment. 

"My mother killed herself." 

He stared down at this hands in his lap. Not meeting Mark's eye. 

"Ok." Mark responded when the silence dragged on too long. "Do you want to talk about that?" he asked, unsure where to conversation might go from this point. Unsure what to do with this from James. 

Mark was awed that James seemed to extend trust to him beyond his usual level with relative strangers. Yet he also felt like he was missing half the conversation: there was some additional information that James was telegraphing, if only he knew how to receive the signal. 

"Not really." 

"Then we don't have to. We can listen to the music. Have another drink." Mark told him. All of his instincts were screaming at him not to push this. Especially after what James had told him already about the timing of his mother's death. 

James nodded, and after taking a minute to collect himself, he went to the kitchen to retrieve the open bottle of wine, and topped up both their glasses. 

They sat quietly for a while, before James started to talk again. 

"I told you before - about the timing? With Will and everything? After that new year, and what I'd done… I was in a state. I spent days just stuck in my head. Thinking about what I believed; praying for guidance. I had plans to go for dinner at home for twelfth night. But I was in such a state I went early. Dad was still at work, Nell was...I don't know where. And I found her. My mum. Hanging. I--" 

James cut himself off abruptly, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. 

"You know it's not your fault?" Mark asked gently. 

"I went from being happy and content and knowing my place in the world to just...not. Questioning my beliefs, my family, everything. Dad fell apart after Mum died, and Nell had to stick around and deal with that. I just left. I'm pretty sure it's why we don't get on now." 

Mark watched James for a moment, unsure what he could say in response. 

"Would you like a hug?" he eventually asked, twisting sideways to face James on the sofa. 

James hesitated, fighting an inner battle between his desire to protect himself; to avoid showing any more vulnerability, and the yearning he felt at the prospect of comfort. 

Finally, he nodded, and all but fell into Mark, who brought him arms up to wrap around James, as he shook with silent tears, overwhelmed by sharing his grief. 

The CD they were listening to reach its end, but neither man moved. 

\---


	2. Postcards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James sends postcards from his holiday with his sister. Mark packs up his flat ready for his move back to the UK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA Five times Mark didn't respond to postcards from James, and one time he did...

The first postcard arrived about ten days after it was posted, based on the date scribbled on it. A picture of York Minster bathed in sunlight. On the back it simply showed the date, the 10th January, and then _Wish you were here. - J_

Mark grinned at it. He'd heard very little from James since he'd arrived back in Melbourne, but he had had one late night message from James. A lament that he was about to head off for his trip with Nell, and that he was dreading it. 

No word since, though Mark knew they were only going for five days, and they'd surely arrived back safely well before this postcard had found its way to him. 

Mark propped the postcard up against the toaster in his kitchen, and went back to sorting through the pile of books he'd made on the breakfast bar: ones to sell, ones to give to friends, and ones to donate. Just a few books were coming with him back to the UK, and they were packed already. 

 

The second postcard arrived two days later, also dated the 10th January. It showed a shiny, red, steam locomotive engine. Clouds of steam curling around it. On the back James had written, _I learned today that the connecting metal between the wheels on the steam engine are called 'coupling rods'. Everyday is a school day. - J_

Mark put this one against the kettle, so he could look at it and its predecessor together. He fished the tea bag out of his mug, added milk, and went back to the bedroom to continue the task of deciding which clothes to keep and which to give away. 

 

The third postcard was dated January 13th, so it had perhaps arrived out of order, or simply there weren't any for the preceding days. It showed the ruins of Whitby Abbey, and then, in speech marks to show it was a quotation, 

_"I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air."_ Underneath that, a citation, _\- Stoker, 1897_. 

This postcard was wedged into the edge of the frame of the mirror in the bedroom. This time showing the text and not the picture on the front. Mark lingered in front of it for a moment. Was it intended to be as romantic as it sounded? But Dracula wasn't exactly the stuff of love poetry. 

 

No postcard arrived the next day, or the one after. But then two arrived together. Mark dragged himself out of bed late. He had a raging hangover; having been out celebrating his last day at work the night before. The two postcards mixed in with the bills and junk mail made him smile. 

The first, January 11th, showed a purple, heather-filled moorland. It stated simply, _Life hack: never go for a full day of hiking in brand new boots. Ouch. - J_

The second, January 14th, was from the last day of James' trip. It showed a puffin in mid flight, with a beak full of fish. It read, _Guano really doesn't smell good. Nell gets sea sick. My waterproof coat leaks. Wish you were here today? - J_

Mark was surrounded by boxes and bags of possessions that he was getting rid of. A friend was coming over that afternoon to help him take the stuff for donation away, and then to take a load of homewares back to her own house, where she'd recently moved and was still in need of various items. One large suitcase was packed already, to be shipped back to his dad's house separately. Just another eight days left in a city where he'd spent ten years of his life. The second suitcase, the one that was coming on the flight with him, was open on the bedroom floor. It had a neat stack of clothes and books, interspersed with various sentimental items. 

 

Another four days passed. Mark had assumed that the influx of postcards had ceased and that there simply wasn't one from January 12th. He'd sent a brief message to James to thank him for sending them, and received only a cursory acknowledgement in return. 

So it was something of a surprise when the final postcard did arrive. A beautifully lit shot of Ripon cathedral. The message on this one was slightly longer. _I came here once before, back when I was still a naive young theology student. So much has changed since then. I barely recognise my younger self. I used to miss who I was then. I think now that this me is better. - J_

Mark held the postcard for a while, his finger tracing over the text thoughtfully. Then he dug out his phone from the pocket of his jeans and snapped a picture of the postcard. The front of it; the picture of the cathedral. He sent it to James. 

Mark (Lewis)  
This one arrived after the others. I didn't know past you, but current you is a good man.  
09:52

The read receipt appeared on the message almost immediately, but the 'writing' bubble appeared and disappeared a couple of times before the reply arrived. 

James Hathaway  
Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.  
22:58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James and Nell were on holiday in North Yorkshire. They visited York and its Minster; the National Railway Museum (also in York); Whitby, the gothic setting for Dracula; the North York Moors for a hiking trip; Bempton Cliffs for a boat trip to see the bird life; and finally the market town of Ripon.


	3. In a Yorkshire pub...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Nell have a heart to heart.

The pub where they were staying wasn't very busy. Not unusual for a cold Wednesday evening in January. James had shed his shoes and was poking at his sore, socked feet, while Nell went to order their food and drinks at the bar. 

"Leave them alone; you'll make it worse," Nell instructed, plonking a pint of IPA in front of him, and settling in the chair opposite with her own glass of wine. 

James looked up, chagrined. His younger sister had actually been remarkably sympathetic and very helpful, steering him towards specific blister plasters when they'd dropped by the chemist. 

He'd been very keen to go hiking: a nice long walk with a pub lunch in the middle. He's bought new hiking boots for the occasion, as his old ones had been with him since his feet had finally stopped growing in his late teens. 

But of course he hadn't thought of the need to break in the new leather boots. 

 

They didn't have to wait too long for the food to arrive, and they were relatively quiet as they ate. Some brief chat about their day; finalising the logistics for the plans the following morning. After the plates had been cleared and James was savouring his second pint he brought the conversation round to heavier topics. 

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked Nell. 

"Yes. Or at least I thought I was at the time. Why?" Nell answered, looking surprised and curious at her reticent brother's sudden line of questioning. 

"No reason; just wondering." James finally said after a long pause. 

"Bollocks. Is this linked to all the mystery postcards you've been sending. The ones that you tried to hide from me?" 

James sat back suddenly, startled that she'd been paying that much attention to him during their holiday. 

“Sending them to a friend, were you?” Nell prompted. 

“Yes.” James bit out tersely in reply. 

“Two yesterday, and another one today. All to the same person?” 

“Are you spying on me?” 

“No. Just interested. I didn’t think you were the sentimental type. And when we spoke last month you were dating someone, and then you suddenly weren’t any more. Colour me intrigued.” 

“Nosy, more like.” 

“James, I know we’re not close, but that sort of is the point of this holiday, you know. The reason we have a standing appointment for lunch dates. The reason I text and ask how you are if one of your murders makes the news. I am trying, and I’d appreciate if you did the same!” 

Her voice rose slightly, a fierceness behind the words. James found himself tensing and feeling defensive in return. 

“I am trying. I’m here, aren’t I? I reply to your messages, I buy you lunch. That doesn’t mean you have free rein to stick your nose in my private life!” 

“God, James, you don’t make this easy do you? I’m going to the loo.” 

James groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He stared at the flames in the fireplace, mind whirring as he contemplated yet again why it was that his sister could have this effect on him. Making him feel tense and on edge. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered reluctantly, when she dropped back down into her seat a few minutes later. 

“You’re the only family I have left. I’m just trying to get to know you better; to take an interest in your life. This isn’t an interrogation and yet you always react like I’ve invaded your privacy or I’m offending your very existence.” 

“I’m not used to having anyone ask, not without having an ulterior motive.” 

"Well you're just going to have to trust that I am genuinely interested and not out to get you."

"I'm trying!" 

"Try harder."

"Nell--"

Nell held her hands up in defence. 

"Ok, ok," she acquiesced. "I'll leave it. On one condition…" 

"Go on,"

"You tell me who you're sending the postcards to." 

"Nell!" James protested, but she remained defiant. Staring him down over the pub table. 

"They're to a friend," James reluctantly admitted. "His name is Mark, he lives in Australia, he's Inspector Lewis' son. That's how I know him." 

"So...just a friend then?" Nell asked. 

James shrugged and ducked his head, blushing slightly. 

"James!" Nell exclaimed, delightedly. 

"Don't." James warned her. "He's a friend, I like him, I'm sending him postcards. That's it."

"He lives in Australia though? Have you actually met him?"

"Yeah he was over here for Christmas, and-" James paused, unsure whether to continue. 

"And?" Nell prompted. 

"And he's moving back to the UK soon. He's got a job up in Newcastle." 

"Are you, what, dating?" 

James pulled a face at that. 

"We're not anything."

"Do you want to be?" 

James shrugged again. 

"I genuinely don't know." he admitted quietly.


	4. Emails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Mark's flight back to the UK, he emails James and is stressed.

From: m.k.lewis@smith-jones-haskell.au  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Cc: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Email address

James, 

I wanted to let you know my personal email - losing this one imminently. End of an era. 

Mark

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

Thanks.

James. 

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James

Final packing done. Ten years of my life condensed to two suitcases and a rucksack. Then I'm going back to Newcastle. It feels like the past 10 years didn't happen at all. I've undone them entirely and just gone straight back to being a new graduate again. Maybe I have? What if none of this is real and I wake up tomorrow, 21, and living in a shitty student flat in Heaton?

Mark

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark

I can't decide if you're sleep deprived or drunk. Either way, if it was ten years ago then you wouldn't know me at all, so how could you be emailing me? 

I didn't know you'd gone to Newcastle Uni though. Or was it Northumbria?

James

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James

God, sorry. That was a ridiculous thing to fear. I am in fact both drunk AND sleep deprived. 

Newcastle, yep. Mark Kenneth Lewis BEng, AMIEAust, MICE. 

And not knowing you is part of the nightmare I guess. What if it is 10 years ago, and this was all a dream, and my mum's still just died and dad's just fucking off to BVI and is drunk and doesn't know I'm gay, and all the good uncling I thought I had done for Jack is a lie??? 

Australia has been good for me. Melbourne is basically home, now. I have friends here; I have a life here. What am I even doing?!

Sorry, I shouldn't be dumping all of this on you. But, god. Ten years. TEN. T E N. What am I doing trying to change everything now?

Sorry, sorry, sorry. 

M

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;  
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

Sounds like you're just having pre-move nerves. You only looked for work in the UK because you wanted to move back. You said yourself you want to be closer to Lynn and actually see Jack in person more often. 

It's definitely not 10 years ago. And I can confirm, and I 100% do not want it to be either. Your dad is very functional, very happy, and he's never going to be over your mum dying but he's in a good place mentally and emotionally, and so are you. 

Your friends in Melbourne don't have to stop being your friends. You can still keep in touch with them through the magic of the internet and air travel. We would still be friends even if you were staying there, I hope? 

Deep breaths. It'll all be fine. 

James

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James, 

I expected more sarcasm. Thanks. I am sorry, but I'm all over the place emotionally and I don't have anyone else to talk to about it. 

Everyone here is being dramatically sad about me leaving, and telling me in great detail how much they'll miss me. Which is flattering, but also it's A LOT. Feeling responsible for other people's emotions is hard work. 

And I don't want to complain to Dad or Lynn because they're so excited that I'm moving. 

Which leaves you. And means I'm passing on the emotional mess to you. So I am genuinely sorry about that. 

M x

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark,

It's what friends are for: I'm happy to be the person you can talk to. I like you; I want to support you. 

James

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com;  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James, 

I like you too. 

M x 

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James, 

God that sounded ridiculous. Ignore me. Please?

Mark. 

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

I don't want to ignore you. 

James

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James,

Are you flirting with me?

M 

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

Maybe. Is that ok?

James

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James,

Very ok. ;) 

M x

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

Excellent. I'm not stooping to using emoticons though. 

"I would do anything for love, but I won't do that." 

Meatloaf: dissing emoticons, ahead of his time. 

James 

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James, 

:D :D :D

M xx 

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

I take it back, I don't like you at all. I hate you. Deeply and ardently. 

James 

 

From: marklewis85@gmail.com  
To: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
Subject: Re: Email address

James, 

Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that. 

God, I need to sleep. I need to be up for the airport trip in about 5 hours. 

M xx

 

From: j.hathaway@thames-valley.police.gov.uk;   
To: marklewis85@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Email address

Mark, 

Well I should get on with some work anyway. This is flagrant misuse of police resources. (I am a police resource: I learned this early in my career). 

Keep calm. Enjoy the flight. 

Sweet dreams.

James xx


End file.
